


Blood Like Gasoline

by feyreofthewildfire



Series: In Our Bones [3]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Here we go, angst angst angst, but a little bit of fluff too, down the trash chute once again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-01-15 19:25:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12327297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyreofthewildfire/pseuds/feyreofthewildfire
Summary: Sunlight filters in through the thin white curtains pulled over the windows casting a glow on the red-carpeted floor. If she focuses, she can hear the sounds of chatter from the courtyard. If she focuses somewhere else, she can hear Fionn’s heartbeat. It’s obvious which she chooses to listen to.She tilts her head up when his breathing changes, just in time to see his eyes flutter open. They’re clouded with sleep and contentment, something she could appreciate for a long time, especially when his lips curl up into a smile.-Another continuation of 'Wasteland' this time with 100% more nightmare trope and 200% more information about Fionn.





	1. Baby, those lips like fire

He’s utterly exhausted.

Fionn can barely keep his eyes open, much less his pen moving, as he continues to write another proposal to Vassa. He had been supposed to do it orally at the war meeting that day but had instead elected to go out for another training session with Nesta.

It’s not a decision he regrets in the slightest, but the written word has never been his expertise. His first language wasn’t even the common tongue, and the complex nuances and exceptions to the rules of the aforementioned language never failed to give him a headache.

Thunder booms from outside his window, lightning striking every few seconds. It’s the worst storm that's passed through the capital in a long time, from what he remembers. He’d never grown used to the storms, not when his home had been hot and arid deserts, but it had been going on so long at that point that he no longer jumped with every  _ boom _ .

An aggravated groan slips from his lips as he misses a word yet again. Tossing his pen on the desk, he doesn’t even wait for the ink already on the paper to dry before he crumples it into a ball, covering his hands in black as he does and throws the paper across the room. It collides with the wall before falling to the ground atop the steadily growing pile of failed papers.

The obscenities he’s muttering would’ve gotten him slapped were he at home, likely with an even worse one trailing behind it. He almost smiles at that thought, about what his mother would say to him. He almost wishes he were at home with his sisters, sitting in front of the fire and helping Hala with her school work, sipping  _ ahwa _ in between her questions.

He can’t stop the fond smile from appearing on his lips at that point. His eyes flicker down his ink-stained hands, a sigh escaping him. He pushes out the chair he’s sat in and reaches his arms over his head, reveling in the satisfying stretch of his aching shoulders.

He continues to compose his letter in his head as he heads into his washroom, using the coveted sink to wash the black smudges off his hands, staining the pristinely white clothes as he dries them.

He’s already sat back down at his desk when a knock sounds at the door.

In an instant, he’s up hand already over the beloved dagger he’d haphazardly thrown onto his desktop earlier. The person knocks again and he relaxes, remembering that would-be assassin would most definitely not be knocking.

He shuts the door to his bedroom firmly before hiding the dagger in a drawer of his desk. He locks away any envelopes when a knock doesn’t sound again before heading to the opulent entrance and cracking it open.

In an instant, he has it thrown all the way open.

Fionn doesn’t even question her presence as he pulls Nesta into his arms, holding her close and pressing his lips into the side of her head. She instantly goes slack in his hold, as if she’d drained all her strength walking to his room. He wouldn’t be surprised. Hers was almost all the way across the Palais. She must’ve been walking for at least fifteen minutes.

He sweeps her into his arms, hooking his arm under her knees and carrying her into the room adjacent to his study. When he moves to set her down on the barely-used couch, her grip around his neck tightens. Instead, he sits down with her perched in his lap. She readjusts herself so that her face is hidden in his neck, arms still wrapped tightly around him.

“What happened?” he asks. Not  _ What’s wrong _ or  _ Are you okay _ , but  _ What happened _ . 

Her answer is a single word, “Storm.”

“What about it scares you?” he asks, twirling strands of her hair—down for the first time he’s ever seen it—around his finger. He’d always longed to pull her hair loose and bury his hands in it, but evidence of their trysts was the last thing they needed, even if Vassa had already found out and decided she didn’t care.

“The water.” 

“What about the water?”

When she doesn’t answer, he knows that it’s an incredibly sensitive topic. He doesn’t—he  _ refuses _ —to push her for an answer, instead choosing to bathe in the silence and the feel of her in his arms. 

“The Cauldron.” He doesn’t mean to tense, but he does. “It reminds me of the Cauldron.”

He’d heard rumors about what had happened to her in Hybern, stories told in hushed whispers about a woman who’d stolen from the very thing that bound their world, who’d stolen and lived to tell the tale. He’d never paid much mind to the gossip, even less now that he knew the woman they spoke about.

He can feel her breath hitch multiple times, can feel her open her mouth to say something only to close it once again. Finally, she speaks.

“Can I stay?”

“Of course.” 

He doesn’t even contemplate the consequences of the statement, or the fact that he has two stacks of paperwork on his desk that need to be done by the next evening. No, all that matters is the woman in his arms.

He feels more than hears her quiet  _ Thank you _ against the skin of his neck. 


	2. and my blood like gasoline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) i'm sorry for disappearing!!!! writer's block hit HARD and i honestly haven't had time to write either.
> 
> 2) i saw halsey in minneapolis yesterday!!!!!!! i'm still riding the high ahhhh
> 
> 3) i'm trying to be better about writing and updating... if any of y'all also read 'we'll go together' then i'm just gonna let you know that chapter 13 is gonna be a little rough and take a while. also, thank you for reading it <3
> 
> 4) have the loveliest day!!! good vibes for everyone!!!

When Nesta wakes, it’s with a peacefulness she doesn’t recognize.

She’s lying atop of Fionn, legs tangled together and hair splayed behind her. The steady rise and fall of his chest grounds her, reminding her where she is. 

Sunlight filters in through the thin white curtains pulled over the windows, casting a glow on the red-carpeted floor. If she focuses, she can hear the sounds of chatter from the courtyard. If she focuses somewhere else, she can hear Fionn’s heartbeat. 

It’s obvious which she chooses to listen to.

She tilts her head up when his breathing changes, just in time to see his eyes flutter open. They’re clouded with sleep and contentment, something she could appreciate for a long time, especially when his lips curl up into a smile. 

He says something under her breath that she doesn’t recognize, even with her Fae hearing. “What?” She asks, voice raspy.

“ _ Majil _ ,” He repeats. “It’s Airaibik.”

“I didn’t know you spoke another language,” She retorts as he brings his hand up and interlaces his fingers through hers atop his chest. “What does it mean?”

“Mm,” He kisses each of her fingers once, “I’ll tell you later.”

She rolls her eyes, not even bothering to push. She’s sure it’s some sort of romantic notion that would make her  _ tsk _ at him. The hopeless romantic in him makes her want to both slap him and kiss him. The choice never fails to baffle her.

He rolls them over so that he’s leaning over her before gently pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. Almost—but not quite—unwillingly, her eyes flutter shut, a small, silent sigh escaping. “I have a meeting with Fohrellis soon.”

Fionn lifts himself up on his forearms to look at her, “Be late.”

The look she gives him is enough, it seems, because he simply rolls back over to let her out of bed. She sits up, pulls her legs over the side of the bed and stretches her arms over her head, relishing in the stretch of her muscles. 

She pays no mind to him while he gets out of bed himself, though her lips flick up when he kisses the top of her head. Nesta had never been one for affection, but she finds that his little ways are surprisingly endearing. 

“Sneaking back to my room will be fun.” She drawls, standing from her perch and making her way to the balcony doors. She has to remind herself to not put her strength into the push, remembering the two times before she’d already shattered doors in Velaris. 

The sunlight that had been poking in between the folds of the curtain greets her, warming her face. For a moment she relishes in it, a smile gracing her face when a pair of arms wraps around her waist. “You’re oddly affectionate,” she notes.

“Procrastinating,” he mutters into her hair, “I hate writing in the common tongue.”

“You live in the wrong place,” she tsked. “I haven’t met a single person yet that doesn’t choose to speak the common tongue.”

“I’ll take you out west one of these days,” he promises, “then we’ll go down south and I’ll introduce you to my mother and sisters.”

Nesta’s not sure she’s breathing anymore, not with the way that the words hit her.

She’d never had anyone who’d wanted to introduce her to their loved ones, barring the fact that sometimes she already knew them. He’d brought it up so casually, the idea of introducing her to the most important women in her life. 

She couldn’t imagine herself meeting anyone that important to him. The idea of the look on his mother’s face at the sight of her pointed ears made her sick, or the image of walking through the streets of his hometown. 

“I should get going.” 

Neither of them makes any attempt to move from where they stand, wrapped around each other in full view of the gardens below where people have already started to congregate, despite the early hour. Some of them whisper and point up, but Nesta can no longer bring herself to care. Let them gossip. The two of them know the truth.

She turns in his arms and places her hands on his shoulders, rising up on her toes to finally return some of the affection he’s been showering her with. It’s still a strange feeling, being so open with  _ anyone _ , but it leaves her a little warm inside, filling the spaces left behind by both her mortality and magic.

It hasn’t truly occurred to her yet that it’s been less than a year since she had been turned, nor the fact that she will live for hundreds, if not thousands of years. She knows this, of course, but she’s not sure the weight of it has set in yet. There’s so much time between this very moment and her death. What will she fill it with? 

A horrible, treacherous thought finds its way into her thoughts, her grip on him tightening just the slightest bit. His breath hitches and she relaxes. 

She simply rests her head in the space between Fionn’s neck and shoulder and wishes the thoughts away, knowing that her time with him will be nothing but a small moment in her everlasting lifetime. 


	3. sparked the fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey!!
> 
> 1) guess what? i finally finished this story! it took me literal months filled with tearjerking writer's block
> 
> 2) they'll probably be more in this universe. we'll see.
> 
> 3) feel free to ask questions!! if there's anything more you'd like elaborated, i'm thinking of writing a collection of small less than 1k drabbles in this universe
> 
> 4) have the loveliest day!

_ My dearest, Fionn _

 

_ I hope you’re well. Things here have been escalating, and it’s borderline unsafe for me to be here, even as a Fae amongst humans. Rhysand has been talking about pulling me out, but my work is unfinished. Many people here, servants and court alike, believe that the Fae are to blame for the invasion in the west. As the Emissary, I’m a target. _

_ Enough of that. The other day, I defeated Fohrellis in a sparring session. I thought you’d be proud. He was grinning like the idiot he is and proclaimed me “worthy of the best man I ever knew.” Then he immediately told me not to tell you he said that.  _

_ I miss you. I didn’t think I’d ever admit it on record, but without you, the Palais is awfully lonely. Even when I told you not to, you always made time for me, and for that, I’m grateful as I knew that I always had an ally. I feel as though I’m walking onto a battlefield without a strategist every time I leave my room.  _

_ Vassa told me that you were likely to be called back in the oncoming weeks. Is this true? I sincerely hope it is.  _

 

_ Yours, _

_ Nesta _

 

* * *

 

_ Nesta, _

 

_ I miss you in Velaris! My rose bush has finally flowered and I’ve put a bouquet on the dining table. Mor was delighted, though Cassian only made a bad joke about brightly colored flowers in the Night Court. I just told him that I was planning on growing night-blooming jasmine, to which he approved in his own satirical way.  _

_ Feyre is still off hunting down Bryaxis, and Rhysand grows a little more irritated every day. I count down the days until our sister returns. It’s strange to see only one figure flying over the skyline, rather than two. Feyre, even in her recovering state, still brings a certain light to the house that can’t be replaced. _

_ I still don’t know exactly how I fit into the dynamic here. I hold no role, and though the garden I’m growing keeps me busy, the festering feelings of uselessness continue to grow. I think I might ask Rhysand is there is an official Court role for me to fill once Feyre has come back and he’s in a better mood. _

_ How is Scythia? Better yet, how is Fionn? I was tempted to write a direct letter to him myself but thought better of it. I hope you’re not too lonely in the palace there now that he’s left. I send my best wishes for him. _

 

_ With love, _

_ Elain _

 

* * *

 

_ My love, _

 

_ I miss you too. After being surrounded by my men for weeks, I wish even more for your presence. I’d forgotten how vulgar they tend to get after stewing in one small camp for a long time. I’m tempted to join them in one of their nightly celebrations if only to help boost morale, but it won’t be the same without you there to whisper small, insulting comments about them all in my ear. Sometimes I think up my own and realize how awful of an influence you’ve been. _

_ Vassa has said a few things about calling me back to the Palais. But there’s not much more I can do there than what I can do here, and as the months stretch into winter, travel between becomes more harrowing. Tactically, coming back may be more trouble than it’s worth. Personally, I’d brave the Winter Court to see you. _

_ Tell Fohrellis that I demand a letter from him since he hasn’t written to me personally yet.  _

 

_ With everything, _

_ Fionn _

 

* * *

 

_ Dear, Elain _

 

_ I’m not sure what I was thinking when I mentioned him to you. If I had known that your spirits had lifted so much, I would’ve excluded the detail. Nonetheless, I’m glad your happy. If the bats are giving you trouble, all you have to do is talk back. Well, they might just trouble you more, but it’s a calculated risk.  _

_ Scythia is infinitely more boring without Fionn—something I’ve already mentioned in my most recent letter to him. If you choose to write direct letters to him, I can’t stop you. In fact, I may encourage you. It’ll be a long time before I can properly introduce you two, but I’d like to be hopeful that the day will come.    _

_ Do you know how Feyre’s hunting is going? We all know the likelihood that she will catch the monster. She is our sister, after all.  _

 

_ Nesta _

 

* * *

 

_ Rhysand, _

 

_ I’m still adamant that I be allowed to stay in Scythia. While relations are tense, leaving will only cause me to look guilty. My magic may no longer be, but I can best any of these men in combat if they dare try. I’ve nearly won over Vassa’s entire court. Leaving now would only foil all future attempts at allying ourselves with the Continent. A base of operations will be needed once we are pulled into the war that has already started. Scythia is the only kingdom that has even considered allowing us in. Too much progress has been made to retreat now. _

_ Vassa has inquired about the wards around Velaris and the possibility of setting up similar spells around the country borders. I told her that I must discuss the probability with you as I preferred not to turn her down in that moment. I suggested wards around the Palais, although I will not be able to accomplish such a thing by myself should we come to an agreement.  _

 

_ Nesta _

 

* * *

 

 

_ My dearest, Fionn _

 

_ I try not to be too proud of my influence, given the negative connotation, but you’ve always known me to be a prideful person.  _

_ I’m no longer sure what to say, as I've never been one for words. Sometimes I get glimpses of feeling that aren’t mine, and yet I can’t be sure that they’re yours. Truthfully, I hadn’t looked much into the specifics of Prythian bargaining. I hope they’re not yours. If they, please stop stressing. Drink some of that  _ ahwa _ you love so much. I know it reminds you of home, even if it isn’t as good as your mother’s.  _

_ I think I might try winnowing just to come see you. I haven’t gotten used to sleeping alone yet.  _

 

_ Yours, _

_ Nesta _

 

* * *

 

_ Nesta, _

 

_ Feyre’s finally back! To no one’s surprise, she found Bryaxis and locked him in the library again. The window has been built and everything’s gone back to normal for the most part. Rhys’ mood has drastically improved and the overall mood of the House is on the up and up. I finally got around to planting the night-blooming jasmine I mentioned in my last letter.  _

_ I’ve started maintaining a pot of purple verbena and bellflower in Az’s study. I didn’t even tell him, to be honest, but he thanked me today. His study needs a little more life in it, and I thought the purple would be much more suiting than the red and yellow roses I’d been considering beforehand.  _

_ I’ve also been keeping a bouquet in your room, if only so that it doesn’t feel so empty. I think you’d approve. It’s these beautiful, native dark red calla lilies and some snapdragons. It reminds me of you, and it makes your absence a little easier to bear every time I go to water them.  _

 

_ With love, _

_ Elain _

 

* * *

 

_ My love, _

 

_ I’m sorry for the delay. The war drums of Vallahan can be heard in the valley and I’m afraid I’ve found no time for writing letters. Even now, as I write, I’m late for a war council. This may be the last letter I send until the bloodletting is over. It’s soon, I know it is. Vallahan’s army lives in infamy, and the sound of their war drums has played for two days now. I pray to every god and goddess and saint and deity that I will come home to you.  _

_ Once I come back, we’ll take a week off and go to the cabin I keep in the north before we have to go back to our duties across oceans.  _

_ I love you. _

 

_ Yours _

 

* * *

 

She cries.

It’s a strange feeling, something she’s only ever done once before. That had been when she had learned that he would be leaving.

Now she knows he’s not coming back.


	4. that burned down everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) final chapter!!! yay!!!  
> 2) i don't think i have much left for this little AU, quite honestly this may or may not be it  
> 3) regardless, i LOVE this au so much and if this is the end then this has been the most fun i've had in a while  
> 4) have the loveliest day!!

Nesta had taken to sitting in Cassian’s study.

He always had the fireplace roaring, no matter how hot the day was, and the windows blasted open. The crackling of the fire helped fill the silence, and the breeze coming through carried the warmth through the room. His entire study was a cocoon of comfort, nevermind the fact that the armchair he kept by the fireplace was enormous—for the wings, she knew. She gladly took advantage of it. 

His study was in an isolated corner of the House, away from the bustle and noise of the bedrooms and gathering rooms. It’s conjoined to Azriel’s own study, though his presence is so quiet that she often doesn’t even sense it with the small remnants of her magic. All she ever smells is the pot of flowers (some sort of lily?) Elain keeps in there.

Cassian had been gone for the past week in the war camps, preparing the Illyrian legions for the possibility of war on the continent. He hadn’t minded the prospect of her staying in his study, only making a joke about her going through his things. He’d finally come back that morning, and the constant knowledge of his presence behind her made reading near impossible.

Her ears perk up at the sound of him murmuring to himself under his breath, a cacophony of syllables in a dialect she didn’t recognize. It was not the common tongue, that was obvious enough, nor was it anywhere near the lilting sounds of Airaibik that Fionn had sometimes spoken in.

She gently places the bookmark she had held between her fingers in the book, marking her spot, and closing it, setting it on her lap as she listens to the strange sounds that were linked together coming from Cassian’s mouth. The sound of scribbling on paper was distinct behind her, followed by the crumbling of paper and a word that she suspected to be a swear.

“Are you having trouble?” She asked, unable to keep the accusing tone out of the words. To her surprise, Cassian doesn’t jab back with a joke but groans with frustration.

“I’ve spent the last week speaking Illyrian and my head is still stuck there. I forgot the word for ‘aerial’ earlier.” He deadpans, pulling out another sheet of parchment and writing atop it. “What’s the word for  _ krajleca _ ?” He asks though she knows it’s not directed towards her but rather himself. 

His frustrations make her smile, reminding her of times when Fionn had spit out full paragraphs in Airaibik at rapid speed to try and remember the translation of a few words. The thought reminds her of the inner turmoil she’d been having for weeks. She’d been thinking about it the entirety of the last week he’d been gone, especially since she’d been staring more at the armor on the wall instead of reading her book. 

Nesta wasn’t entirely sure she was ready, she wasn’t sure if she’d  _ ever _ be ready, but at this point, she was ready to rip off the band-aid and let the wound heal. She never wanted to forget Fionn, but she needed to learn to remember rather than relive. She needed to come to terms with the blank canvas of her arm and find some sort of routine in her off time.

He’s still muttering when she speaks up, “Will you train me?”

The scribbling of his pen immediately stops, as does the murmuring under his breath. The only sound is the crackling of the fireplace, even though it seems as though the warmth has been leached from the room. She bites her lip, wondering if she should take back her question or if she’d asked at the wrong time. Maybe she should’ve waited until he was less stressed or calmer. 

And suddenly he’s standing in front of her, staring at her with a look in his eyes that she almost doesn’t recognize.

_ Stop comparing him to Fionn. _

“You want me to train you?” He asks, a breathless quality to his tone that puzzles her.

“I believe that’s what I just asked.” She retorts, feeling more self-conscious every moment longer he stares at her. 

“I…” He stutters for the first time. “Of course.”

Her shoulders relax and the death grip she has on the book she’d been attempting to read lessens, though she can feel the grooves she’s left in the bound leather. 

It’s hard to stop the small, miniscule smile that slips its way onto her face. His eyes widen and he smiles back, looking as if his entire world has lit up. It’s strange to see so much giddiness in his expression, and yet it only makes her smile widen.

Before long they’re both grinning like mad, and for the first time, she thinks that, just maybe, everything feels okay.

 

**Author's Note:**

> come scream at me on tumblr @feyreofthewildfire  
> kudos and comments give me the motivation to get through the piles of homework and write! warning: i tend to word vomit in my responses  
> have a lovely, lovely day!


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